


But Nobody Talks (About Jefferson)

by korasami



Category: 18th Century CE RPF, Historical RPF
Genre: Alexander Hamilton is a menace and I love him for it, James Madison is smol and must be protected at all costs, M/M, Thomas Jefferson is tol and might as well be protected too
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-11
Updated: 2015-10-11
Packaged: 2018-04-25 20:27:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4975384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/korasami/pseuds/korasami
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Thomas Jefferson had a lil crush on Madison at one point, and it was his only guy crush ever. Also his only guy kiss but nobody talks about that. Except for Hamilton."<br/>-me, coming up with founding father headcanons at 2 a.m.</p>
            </blockquote>





	But Nobody Talks (About Jefferson)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Dezzie-chan](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Dezzie-chan).



> Also on [Tumblr](http://www.betseyschuylers.com/tagged/my-fic).
> 
> Sort of a follow-up to [this.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4975171)

Thomas Jefferson's grin upon entering the tavern could cure any ailment—that is, until he saw who was sitting at the bar.

It had taken many long months of weary daytimes and sleepless nights, frantic pamphlet writing and countless backdoor dealings; but in the end, Thomas and James had done it. Gotten the one-up on their monarchist/aristocrat/bastard/dictator/ _et alia_ (whichever best suited the mood) arch nemesis at his own game. And there he was, impeding on the celebrations.

Of course, with Thomas' ever run-dry supply of luck, the wretched man turned around to face them at just the right moment. He stood, slightly wobbly on his feet, and made a quick journey of himself towards Thomas and James.

"Mr. Jefferson. Madison," his voice held an opaque filter of alcohol in it, "I would claim seeing the both of you here to be a pleasant surprise, but I shan't demean myself to your standards of lying."

James looked to the side, uncomfortable, but Thomas decided to stand his ground.

"Do not flatter yourself, Hamilton," Thomas sneered, "Even the most foul of creatures could not stoop as low as you and your morals."

Alexander Hamilton scoffed, poking Thomas in the ribs. Thomas noted with much humor that the man's eyes barely reached his chest. "Rather have low morals than none at all; in that arena, I pity you."

Opening his mouth to reply, Thomas slapped Hamilton's hand away. James, realizing how heated the confrontation might become, gripped Thomas' arm in comfort.

"Thomas…" he warned, and Thomas shut his mouth.

Hamilton, never one to miss an open window, continued. "Speaking of no morals. If I fail to see you before you head back to Virginia—please, say hello to your slaves for me?"

Thomas bristled. His next words were slow, calculated. "Of course. Perhaps one of them knew your mother."

James saw the swing before Thomas did, and somehow managed to push him away from the path of Hamilton's oncoming punch. Thomas stumbled, but so did Hamilton, and James pushed the two men apart from one another.

"Enough!" He said, his voice holding more passion that Thomas was familiar with. "Honestly, you two act like such children."

"Perhaps if he didn't—" Hamilton said, at the same time Jefferson let out a loud "But—!"

"I'm not saying be civil. Just try not to commit homicide!"

The tone of James' voice let both men he knew business, and while they made a silent resolution not to throw punches, Thomas leaned down to meet Hamilton at eye-level. They just stood there, squinting angrily at one another until Thomas turned away.

"Come on, James," Thomas said, starting to walk swiftly towards an unoccupied table. "We have had a victory tonight, and I shan't have the loser's sour mood spoil it."

Behind them, Hamilton huffed and returned to his stool. James made his way next to Thomas.

"That was rude," James scolded. "He was drunk and you provoked him. Not to mention, he had a major political loss today. You oughtn't be so petty."

Thomas sat down, rolling his eyes. If James truly cared about Hamilton's feelings, he would not be here opposite him.

"You really believe I worry about offending that waste of air? That the state of that damn aristocrat's wellbeing keeps me up at night? Honestly, James. I figured you knew me better."

James shrugged. "I think you ought to keep your drives in check, is all. Having Hamilton as a political enemy is no welcome challenge; I was once his compatriot, so I would know."

While Thomas would never admit to jealousy, the edge of his tongue was tinged in green as he spoke.

"If you think so highly of Mr. Hamilton," he said through tight teeth, "Then I invite you to go sit with him instead."

Putting a comforting hand over Thomas', James shook his head. "My days at his side are over, my friend, and you know that. I am completely aligned with your interests—your _successful_ interests, keep in mind, which is what we intended to celebrate here."

Thomas exhaled rigidly, but the tension in his shoulders ceased considerably. "You _are_ right, as always, James."

James smiled, and his kind eyes could melt snow. "Delighted to be of assistance, my dear. Would you like for me to get you some drink?"

Leaning back in his chair, Thomas nodded. Alcohol would be a pleasant reward for his noble actions regarding America's state of affairs, and would keep his mind of the insufferable _Creole_ sitting not twenty paces away. Thomas breathed in and out through his nose. This was his night. James was right. Nothing should come between himself and his happiness.

"Here you are," James said, several moments later. "I hope it's to your liking."

Thomas took a sip of the drink. It was bracing, for sure. He shrugged, then brought the mug back to his lips.

"So, James," he said, attempting once more to make conversation; hopefully this time, he would remain civil. "How have you been? Outside of politics, I have barely gotten to know your current affairs."

James shrugged. He too was drinking, although Thomas remembered what a light drinker the man was when the pink of his cheeks became apparent.

"Not much that would interest you," he confessed. "Mostly I keep myself preoccupied with my work. I haven't the time for dalliances."

Thomas raised his eyebrows. "James, you are a bachelor with a sizable fortune and family name. You are young—much younger than I, at any rate—decently handsome, and a reputable politician. Can you really say in full honesty that there are no 'dalliances' in your life?"

James laughed. "Thomas, if I were courting a lady, you would be the first to know," he said, then took a sip of his whiskey. "But how many times must I explain that I just have no interest whatsoever in the matter?"

"Perhaps once more?" Thomas joked. James scoffed.

"What a charmer," he said, "It's a wonder you haven't got women draping themselves over you."

With a glance down at his hands, Thomas pursed his lips and fluttered his eyelashes mock-coyly. "You really think so, my dear J?"

"My dear J?" James repeated, laughing heartily. "Be careful where you use that sort of language; there are some people who would flog you for such displays of feminine affection."

At the mention of beating, Thomas scowled into his drink. He took a large gulp. He had no love for men who lowered themselves to such plebeian indulgences, but the memory of a fist near his nose was still fresh in his mind. "Like that damned Hamilton, no doubt."

Across the table, James coughed, apparently choking on his drink. "No, actually," he started, and Thomas' head snapped up instantly.

"What do you mean, no?" he asked, voice rushed and slightly slurred.

James blushed. "I—I just mean," he stammered, then shook his head. "Mr. Hamilton's extracurriculars are not mine to gossip about—well, maybe they are a bit mine—what I mean to say is—" James' voice cracked as he hid his face in his hands. "Ignore me, Thomas!"

Thomas' eyes grew wide, and he slammed his hand down on the table in half excitement, half repulsion. "You mean Hamilton—" he shouted before remembering the man was just across the room. Several heads turned, and Thomas was relieved to find after a quick glance around the room that Hamilton was not interested in them. "Hamilton is," he began again, this time taking care to lower his voice, "A sodomite?"

"I never said that!" James said with a blush. He pointed an accusatory finger at his friend. "You are jumping to insane conclusions!"

"I am not!" Thomas defended, his voice raising as he stood up. "Why are you so defensive? It is not as if you _care_ for—" he stopped, then sat back down. James covered his face once more. " _Madison_!"

No reply came, which only incriminated the man in Thomas' mind. A feeling akin to jealousy churned in his stomach. (It could not be jealously, despite it manifesting the same symptoms, because what on earth was there for Thomas to be _jealous_ about?)

"Goodness. I never for a minute took you for a sodomite, let alone with that creature. He, I understand. But you, Madison?" Thomas shook his head, only to realize his friend was doing the same.

"No, no, our relationship was honestly not what you imply," James said in a rush, "I have never engaged in such activities, believe me, nor do I plan on it any time during my life. Nothing like _that_ happened, Thomas, I swear to God."

It sounded to Thomas that James was trying to convince himself more than anyone else, but he tried to push the thought out of his mind. He was unsure whether or not to be relieved or disappointed that James had never partaken in buggery, but at the same time, he was unsure how to react to his own internal monologue. Disappointed at James' lack of unmanly sin? What sort of heathen was Thomas himself evolving into?

"Right," he said simply, then swallowed some more burning liquid. "Then how _do_ you know of Hamilton's unnatural behaviors?"

James bit his lip. Thomas groaned internally, and blamed it on the alcohol.

"Um, it came up in conversation?"

The scoff which followed James' weak explanation could not have been helped. "And how did such a conversation go? 'Hello, Madison, how are you this fine morning?' 'Swell, Hamilton, swell! How is your wife?' 'Fine, but I like being taken like a woman too much to notice!'"

Gasping, James shushed him. "Thomas! We are in public!" He gripped the edge of the table. "And that is not accurate in the slightest how the discussion played out, if my memory serves itself."

Thomas threw his hands up in the air and slumped back into his chair. "Well!"

The two sat in silence for several minutes, unmoving. Thomas was unsure why the tension was so dense between them, nor did he understand his own woundedness, but he did know that James was looking increasingly upset as the seconds ticked past.

"Would you like me to get you a second drink?" James blurted, breaking the uncomfortable silence. Thomas gave a curt nod, and the mug was whisked away. Moodily left to his own silence, Thomas let himself drift away into his thoughts.

Namely, his thoughts regarding James Madison.

For a preliminary setting of the record, Thomas knew he had never felt any sort of attraction—whether it be romantic or purely sexual—towards any other man. Nor did he particularly wish to. Regardless, the sensation of warm euphoria when Thomas glanced over to James across the tavern and the memory of rapid heartbeats during those long nights in the office could not be denied any longer, especially in Thomas' slightly tipsy state. He had begun to develop an attraction to his friend.

Having thought those words fully, Thomas exhaled with a growl in the back of his throat. Thomas was no lightweight, but the adrenaline from earlier that day was clearly having a bizarre effect on his mind. James was a great friend, and a loyal ally. Nothing more.

But then James gripped Thomas' shoulder with a reassuring squeeze, and sat back down across the table, and Thomas could not believe it had taken himself this long to notice the color of his friend's eyes.

"Thomas?" James clunked the mug down in front of him. "Sorry about earlier."

Thomas gripped the mug and slouched into his chair. "Perhaps it would be in the best interest for both of us to forget the events of the past several minutes."

"If you wish," James said, voice softer than Thomas could handle in his state of mind. "But honestly, if you were willing to listen _with tact_ , I would be willing to tell the full story." James paused. "Not to assume anything, but you did seem somewhat interested in my past relationships but a moment ago."

Jefferson blushed. He grasped his beer with unsteady hands and brought it to his mouth, steadily sipping until there was no liquid left. Damn James for seeing through his transparent facade—and damn himself, for letting his interest show so obviously. A man for action rather than words, Thomas waved James on with a nod.

James smiled like a summer afternoon, and the crinkles on his eyes were too much for any mortal man to witness. He handed his mostly-full beer, which perhaps wasn't beer, to Thomas, who immediately began imbibing with passion. "I shall require a bit more of a promise than that, Tom. I know your brand of trickery all too well."

"Me?" Thomas indignantly mock-demanded, pretending to slam James', now drained dry, former mug onto the table. "Engage in trickery? Nonsense, my dear Madison—" he hiccuped, and he wondered if James had given him something exceptionally strong. "—I'm a man, of uptmost—upmosed—" Thomas looked down at his mug. "I'm a Viringian— _Virginian_ , dammit!"

"As am I, my sir," James reminded him with an unmeasurable fondness wrapping his words, "but the fact of the matter is, you do disapprove of both Mr. Hamilton and the liberal lifestyle he employs, and I would rather tell you my own indecent indulgences as one friend to another rather than as means of a political blade only to be sharpened in your capable hands."

"My capable hands?" Thomas repeated, somehow amused. "What can I do with these damned fingers besides write a hundred-thousand word rebuttal? Fiddle in my spare time? Perhaps I can embroider a love poem to my lovely brother-in-cabinet-arms, our esteemed Hamilton."

"Goodness," James said, leaning back. "If I would have known you were to be such a irrational and irritating drunk, I would never have indulged in the mere idea of getting you inebriated."

Ignoring his words, Thomas carried on. "Tell me, James. Why Hamilton and not me? What on Earth would Hamilton have that I lack? "

A sharp laugh to the near right of his ear made Jefferson jump.

"Still not tired of _measuring_ yourself up to me, Jefferson?" Hamilton asked, suddenly dragging up a chair between James and Thomas. Where the insufferable man had sauntered in from, Thomas could not have noticed. "Pay me no mind, boys. I was just passing through when I heard my own name being passed through Mr. Madison's lips in a seemingly unsavory manor. Not," Hamilton paused, leaning closer to Thomas, brushing their sides together, "that it would have been the first time."

Off to the side, James moaned in complete embarrassment, making some sort of chastising remark the likes of which Thomas was unable to register. He grit his teeth, fists clenched, and knew he must have drunk something much stronger than anticipated.

"Hamilton, you damn bastard, you make one more remark about James' integrity and I swear I'll—"

"You'll what? Throw some tobacco seed at me?"

The veins of Thomas' forehead were surely to burst. "I'll go to the National Gazette with rumors, I—I'll tell Washington—"

"Tell Washington what? Please, Mr. Jefferson. General Washington was my commanding officer during the war. He knows of my habits more than any other man."

Thomas' eyes bugged. "Goodness, goodness. Goodness! I am far too drunk for this."

"As am I, Thomas," James admitted, and he did look rather queasy. "I think it's best we let Mr. Hamilton back to his drink and take our leave." With that, he stood, and slid over between Hamilton and Thomas.

"Huh?" Thomas asked, grabbing James' outstretched hand to be pulled up.

"James—" Hamilton began, and for a moment Thomas thought he was sincere. He very well might have been, but any sympathy that could possibly be felt for the man disappeared when he put a hand on James' hip.

A seething rage swept over Thomas. His seat scraped loudly on the wooden flooring. All eyes were on the three men. "Back off, Hamilton," he whispered, adopting a cool facade for a voice.

The silence felt like all the possible elephants in the room suddenly were making their sentiments known, and perhaps they were. Thomas looked at James, to Hamilton, and then back at James. The slightly worried, slightly warning demeanor James kept up was nothing compared to Hamilton's sleazy, completely intoxicated, grin.

"Why?"

Thomas opened his mouth, then shut it. Of all the responses he had anticipated, the one which came out of Hamilton's mouth was not something he had prepared an answer for. Thus when he moved he moved without thinking, without careful analysis, with an aftertaste in his mouth that was certainly much more potent than beer.

He kissed James Madison rather wetly on the mouth.

James squeaked, and pulled away near immediately. Next to him, Hamilton was cackling maniacally. Around them, the entire bar had either gone dead silent in shock or was awkwardly carrying on with their own conversations in an attempt at feigning deniability.

"James, I—" Thomas started, beginning to flap his hands nervously. No words to explain his actions would come, so he decided it best to halt his surefire flow of excuses.

"Speak nothing of it," James said, his voice tight. "You," he nodded to Thomas, "And, if it's not too much to ask, Alexander, you."

Hamilton's eyes widened (though Thomas did, in the very back of his mind, notice his gaze soften slightly at being referred to by his given name). "James Madison," he began to say, but thought better of whatever it had been and shook his head. "Madison, surely you," (—the "y"s of his words slurred together—) "don't mean I can't use this against 'im," Hamilton had a definite whine to his voice, and he was talking far too loudly for Jefferson's tastes. "My worst enemy's got a little girl crush on—"

"Alexander," Madison hissed, and Thomas suspected he wasn't as drunk as the rest of them. "May I remind you that you yourself have been in a similar predicament? Hmm? Would you like me gossiping about _your_ "little girl" crushes?"

That shut Hamilton up, a fact for which Thomas was grateful. Hamilton pouted, raising what Thomas suspected to be a rather potent rum to his lips. Suddenly overcome with feeling, Thomas snatched the mug out of Hamilton's hands and drained it dry. Whisky, then.

"Hey—" Hamilton began, reaching forward. James slapped his hand away.

"Both of you, stop this madness. Thomas, I feel it is time to take you home; Hamilton, I hope the rest of your night is less eventful and more pleasant, for all of our sakes. Everybody else," James groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose, "I beg of you, do not share the events of tonight with anybody. The next round of drinks are on me." He paused, looked at Thomas, then fixed his words: "Actually, next round of drinks are on Jefferson."

Not able to comprehend the ridiculous bill he was about to receive, Thomas smiled up at James. His cheeks were pink. "I like when you say my last name."

James rolled his eyes. "Okaay," he said. "Let us return to the Inn, yes? Lord knows you need a bed and a decent night's rest."

Thomas made a frighteningly toothy grin—at least, a display of teeth—at hearing James say "bed", and rocked a little when James squeezed himself under Thomas' arm as means to support his drunk pace. He was far too short to do any real aid, but the sentiment was there nonetheless, and for the next twenty minutes of walking Thomas lost himself in the closeness and warmth of James' body next to his.

"You're the best, Jemmy," he said with a hiccup. Beneath him, James grinned despite himself. "The absolute-a-ly best."

"Thank you very much," James replied, and truly, he meant it.


End file.
